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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723392">after laughter.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcavity/pseuds/inkcavity'>inkcavity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Strangers to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:29:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcavity/pseuds/inkcavity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inhale.</p><p>This is the first time he's slept in their bed. </p><p>It's a foreign sensation, feelings coming together and entangled in a web. Their eyes stay glued to the bruises on his chest and face. </p><p>Exhale.</p><p>He'll probably be gone come morning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Reno (Compilation of FFVII)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>after laughter.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>He gives me serotonin. I have depression.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Breaks were sporadic, unfulfilling as usual. It’s as it always is in the Urban Development Department. The electrical wall clock blinks 4:30 in bright red lights, and just as it appears, it’s gone. They sigh in contempt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. Unfeeling. Distant. Disquiet. They’ve gotten through most of the week without inconvenience, but that is to be expected of the clerical workday. It’s not quite fulfilling work, but it’s work. It brings money. It pays the bills. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The coffee in their hands has gotten lukewarm. It’s bitter as they added too little sugar, but it’s enough to keep them awake. ShinRa offices meld together in a blurry haze of grey cubicles and polished desks. Their laptop flickers as their battery drains itself, paperwork folding beneath their elbows whilst they lean over their work. There’s a meeting coming up within a week. Something about a new project for the plates - something about helping their citizens. They aren’t certain about it, honestly. They haven’t been paying attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain patters against the large window, creating a picturesque scene of the world outside. Not that there was much to view, anyway. They’re on the 23rd floor. The grey sky and the white ceiling blend together and create dizzying swirls behind their eyelids. It makes their headache worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>4:30 ticks by swiftly. It’s 4:53 when they face the clock again; they set their coffee down as they skim through their paperwork. Once the clock hits 5 pm, they’ll go home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Words blur together, perplexing and convoluted scribbles on the pages. They vaguely recognize the words “Sector 7” and “plate”, but that doesn’t supply any clarity to what they’re reading. Something about a project. Something about being rejected. They aren’t sure. The paperwork falls back onto the coffee table as they type away on their laptop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They add another note to their calendar, a new meeting to discuss new and failed project plans. They want to scoff. Most, if not all, of the projects that are presented to the company were ultimately rejected. It’d be amusing if it weren’t for the fact that the funding needed for these projects are instead used for the Public Security and Advanced Weaponry Divisions. But of course, they remain clinical about it all. Getting emotional over such nuisances would do no good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, really, it’s not as if they wanted this job in the first place. So long as they receive their check, they don’t care about what the department does. Rubbing their temples, they sigh in dismay. 5:00 rolls in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walk to the train station is a slow one. The white blouse and pencil skirt adorning their figure soak under the harsh weather, faux leather shoes dampen as they fail to sprint into the growing crowd of pedestrians. Luckily, they brought their waterproof laptop case. There’s a large crowd gathered by the tracks, all complaining about various things, but they don’t pay any mind to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fragile skin is rubbed raw against the harsh material of their clothing when they settle into the train. Footprints leave puddles in their wake on the metal flooring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sleep threatens to overtake them as the ride lulls their body. The quiet hum and the warmth of the seat relaxes the stiff muscles of their body as they melt into the cushions. Languidly, they stare out the window. The ride to the slums isn’t terribly long, but it’s enough to get a few spare minutes of rest. It’s invitingly warm inside the passenger car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The steady drive is enough to send them into a light snooze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If they could, at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water seeped in their clothing slowly puddles underneath them, creating an uncomfortable sensation as they wriggle about. Their shoes </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop </span>
  </em>
  <span>with every movement. With so few gil under their name, they knew better than to leave home without a suitable coat and spare clothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truly, they wished they could dress nicer, but saving money is important for those who make a living in the slums. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ride is over as soon as it begins. They chalk it up to exhaustion making the drive shorter than it had really been, scuttling out of the cart just as soaked as they had been when they first entered. Rain doesn’t reach the underplates, the slums hardly receiving any of the downpours that wash over the city. Little cracks and nooks and crannies of the slums gather up what little rain that Midgar acquires, but it’s scarce, hardly enough to water the plantations. Plantation plans in the slums are asinine, but that’s how many citizens like it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, one benefit of this is no wet shoes. Their face scrunches up in distaste as they take careful steps into the station platform, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>squish </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>squelch </span>
  </em>
  <span>of their footfalls leave them wincing. Easy steps now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the crowd has another idea. They yelp as people dart by, shoving and pushing their way through, nudging them every which way like a ragdoll. Eyes widen when they lose their footing, already feeling dizzy as they trip over someone else’s foot. Arms stretch out and prepare for impact with cement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except, that doesn’t happen. Strong arms are felt wrapped around their waist, holding them tightly to keep them from falling. Carefully, they’re helped to their feet. Still, one arm is cautiously held over their waist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing they see are turquoise eyes staring down in amusement. Flashy red hair and a suit to match. Exposed skin is pressed against their chest, successfully drenching him. There’s something hidden in his smile, blithe and indifferent, but they aren’t about to assess him with their fallacies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They know him from a distance, just as he knows them. A Turk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” It comes out as a stutter, a low whisper as they carefully strip themselves away from his figure. He simply shrugs. It’s rare to see a turk in the slums unless it’s for work reasons.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Might wanna watch your step there, sweetheart. The crowds here are tough.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sweetheart. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It sounds cocky coming from him. They roll their eyes. He looks like one to flatter with false pleasantries, but they suppose there’s nuance that comes with it. His easy, lax expression matched with his unbuttoned shirt seems almost profane to what makes him as a person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, that’s all just a guess. “Thank you, then.” They step back, fixing their attire once before taking a step forward...only to be stopped by a hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The redhead still stares, almost intrigued, before moving his hand away. “Already trying to run away?” It’s clear he finds this more than entertaining. Their body stiffens as his hand settles on the curve of their back, idly pushing them forth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’d be unseemingly of me to let you walk home alone, ya know?” There’s not much to say that can stop him, and they don’t see a need to stop him. If anything, they’re curious. Perhaps, they think, he’s just using them to cover more ground for his job. That’s it. That’s all it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They aren’t friends. Not in the slightest. A bold statement, but true nonetheless. “Sure,” they comply, cautious as they begin to lead him deeper into the slums. They know he probably won’t make it to their house, most likely getting caught up in his work and dismissing them just as easily as he met them. They find that they don’t mind it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The redhead grins beside them. “Your name?” They keep their introduction short before inquiring the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Reno. ‘S nice to meetcha.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://twitter.com/luxupussygloss">twitter.</a> <a href="https://ko-fi.com/dreamylucifer">ko-fi.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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